


More

by jostcn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Tried, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I am Supercorp Trash, Light Angst, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Super cliché ending but, This Is STUPID, so cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jostcn/pseuds/jostcn
Summary: “And what do you think I want?”“More.”





	More

"Mm, I have to get going." Derek pulled away and fixed his ruffled shirt. It was almost midnight, and he and Stiles had been sitting in the Jeep for over an hour sharing one too many kisses. "I have to go back to the loft and pack."

 

"You can't be serious," Stiles said, his lips still flaming from Derek's mouth. He didn't even try to hide his incredulity. He dropped his hand from Derek's arm, watching as the older man's chest expanded with a sigh.

 

"We've talked about this," he replied. "I said this was probably going to be our last little rendezvous. I've been thinking about it for a while. You're going off to school, and I could really use a fresh start outside of Beacon Hills."

 

"So you're going to use that as an excuse?" Stiles asked, and he felt his nostrils flare with anger. "I'm leaving to college and you're going to use that as an out, a reason to break up with me? Why can't we have a fresh start together?"

 

Derek's fingers traced the edge of Stiles's jaw softly, to the back of his neck. The bearded man's voice was barely a whisper. "You knew that this was coming."

 

"That's it, then? We're done?"

 

"This was strictly casual," Derek shrugged, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. Neither of the two believed the statement.

 

Stiles didn't break his gaze. "So these past couple of months meant nothing to you?"

 

"I don't know," Derek said, but there was a sense of finality in his voice. His thumb ghosted over Stiles's bottom lip. "I'm sorry."

 

And that was the end of the conversation. Derek broke from the physical contact, got out of the Jeep after a kiss to the temple goodbye, and Stiles drove home with one too many glances in his rearview mirror.

 

The door was unlocked when he slipped into his house, and he was undeniably grateful, because his head was pounding and his heart was aching and all he wanted to do was sleep for eternity. This wasn't Stiles. He didn't run away, he didn't give up. He hadn't felt that way since Allison died; and even though Derek wasn't dead, it still felt like he was perishing, because Stiles was losing him too, and _he_ _couldn't_ _breathe_.

 

He wanted to talk to his dad, to tell him that maybe he was right. He shouldn't have went after Derek, he shouldn't have gotten involved in a relationship, he shouldn't have done any of it. Maybe, if he had listened, then he wouldn't have been heartbroken, left wondering where everything went wrong.

 

At the current moment, Stiles trudged upstairs, turned on the lamp in his room, and began picking the pinpoints off of his bulletin board, one by one. His mind flashed to a few hours ago, of Derek, and his ragged breathing only worsened. In the blink of an eye, he was tearing the thumbtacks off, pulling the strings so everything was gone. No more Hale fire, no more nogitsune, no more benefactor; nothing.

 

He checked his phone, merely glancing at the missed calls from Scott and Lydia— not one message from the one person he craved the most. Stiles shut his phone off and sat on his bed, resting his head on the pillow for a second before shooting up and staggering away. Even though he wasn't a werewolf, he could still identify Derek's scent, burning his nostrils. He wrenched the sheets off his bed, threw his pillow against his crime board, and sunk to the ground, his eyes prickling with tears. He wasn't this weak... he wasn't this—

 

"Stiles?"

 

He turned at the voice, his heart plummeting even deeper because of course, it wasn't Derek. It was his father, and he was right and life wasn't fair, _none_ _of_ _it_ _was_ _fair—_

 

"What happened? Where have you been?" John took a step into the room, and the concern was unmistakably noticeable on his face. "You didn't text me, didn't call. I haven't seen you all day!"

 

Stiles didn't want to deal with communication. He didn't want to deal with his dad caring and getting mad if Stiles told him where he had been. "I don't want to talk about it. Tomorrow?"

 

His father nodded, but they both knew that the talk wouldn't actually happen because of work or school, which was exactly why Stiles made the suggestion. He waited for his dad to leave, then lied down on the floor with a spare pillow and the scent of laundry instead of his mate, sleep pulling him into the darkness with nothing but memories from the prior events.

 

—

 

"I'm on sick leave, Scott," Stiles said through the cell phone balancing between his ear and his shoulder. He bustled past the other passengers that were on the flight with him and down the stairs, grateful that he had only managed to bring one carry-on to avoid baggage claim. "So this wedding better have a lot of booze and hot people. It's about the only thing I'll be looking forward to... I mean, other than Kira becoming your wife, and all."

 

"You can calm down a little bit," Scott laughed. It was laborious to hear him with the amount of people that seemed to be surrounding him. "I'm the one that's getting married in an hour and am still waiting for my best man. 15 minutes, right? Your FBI status should be able to get you here on time. And yes, there will be plenty of alcohol."

 

"Fifteen minutes," Stiles promised, hanging up. He slid into the backseat of his Uber and stared out at the familiar sights of home as they drove.

 

—

 

"And you didn't tell me that the reception was being held at Derek's loft because...?" Stiles asked, loosening his tie. He got out of the limo and stared up at the building; it sent a shiver down his spine.

 

Scott looked over at him, his arm tucked around Kira's waist. She was grinning, radiant in her teacup-style wedding dress. He raised an eyebrow. "Because for one thing, Derek doesn't technically live here anymore, and for the other, your guys'... thing, was three years ago. Besides, it's where Kira and I had one of our dates back in high school; it has sentimental value."

 

Stiles groaned, but followed them upstairs. The foyer was full of stringed lightbulbs, and a handful of tables surrounded what appeared to be the dance floor. Along one wall, the bar and other beverages were set up. On the other, the food and the cake were prepared to be eaten. All he wanted was to grab a bread basket and have a beer.

 

Luckily, Stiles was seating next to Lydia at the head table. She, and a stomach full of food and alcohol, helped in making the night fly by. It was weird for the both of them to watch a wedding of two people so young, to ponder that they, too, could be married in a few years time.

 

"M'kay," Lydia started, placing her hands on the table to push herself up. The first dance had just ended, and she pointed at Stiles. "Another beer?"

 

"Nah," he replied. "I have to get back to work tomorrow, but you go ahead and grab another glass of Merlot."

 

He watched her slip past a few guests, over to the dessert table, monitoring her to make sure that she wasn't too tipsy. Her red hair had become a little disheveled after pulling it out of its braid, but she never ceased to look flawless. Lydia returned to the table, took a sip of her wine, and promptly set it down a second later. "Let's dance."

 

"I... oh no—" and yet she was dragging him onto the dance floor anyway.

 

"This is my favorite song," she smiled, arms hooked around his neck as he planted his hands on her hips. Elvis Presley's _Can't_ _Help_ _Falling_ _in_ _Love_ played softly, and Lydia rested her forehead against Stiles's chest. "It was hers, too."

 

He stiffened, hated the hollow feeling in his chest from the reminder. He didn't say anything for a moment, letting the two sway back and forth. "Are you okay?"

 

"Yeah," she said. Her hands moved down to a more comfortable position at his ribs. "I've been okay, I promise. There's just things that make me think of her. Sometimes, I swear I hear her voice when I've spent a while reading, or her touch on my skin before I fall asleep."

 

"She's with you," Stiles whispered in her ear, squeezing a little and pulling her closer. The song was changing, but they remained in the same position throughout the next track.

 

"Always," she whispered, pulling apart to return back to her seat at the table. She raised her wine glass and offered him a smile of reassurance.

 

Stiles continued to dance, jumping around from Scott and Kira to Isaac and Malia to Melissa and John. A slower song commenced once more, and he glided over to the beverage station for a glass of water.

 

"Stiles."

 

 _Well_ , _fuck_ , he thought. The voice was low, sent a chill down his spine as it always had before. He turned to face Derek Hale, who still didn't look a day over 24 since the last time Stiles had seen him. It wasn't fair, for him to come back and say hello, especially in a pewter suit hugging him in all the right ways.

 

"Hi," he squeaked, furthermore wanting to punch himself in the face. He coughed, returning his voice to its normal state. "How, uh... what's up? Finally decided to come and see how I'm doing? Or does that take up too much of your time?"

 

The remark intended to sting, but Derek replied equally as smooth with an outstretched hand. "Depends. Dance with me."

 

He should have said no, it was simple. Only one word, two letters. Derek was just trying to lure him in and — "Fine. One song."

 

The other man nodded, didn't reveal anything with his facial expressions as Stiles joined their palms while _Where's_ _My_ _Love_ played. Derek's other hand brushed along his back, settled there. He opened his mouth to start talking, yet shut it again for another 30 seconds before speaking. "I heard that you're now an FBI agent. I'm glad that you're doing what you love."

 

"This isn't what I care to talk about," Stiles said sharply.

 

"I don't know what you want from me."

 

He could have slapped Derek, except that it would be an insult to whatever gods created him. Stiles’s voice was hushed despite his irritation. "I want a damn explanation!"

 

"I didn't do anything wrong."

 

"You abandoned me."

 

Derek didn't meet Stiles's eyes, glanced around at the couples beside them. "I didn't abandon you—"

 

"Oh, forgive me," Stiles deadpanned. "Would you rather I use a less offensive term? You left me. You departed from me. You were an asshole. Better?"

 

"I'm sorry," Derek said, but Stiles wanted him to work for it, wanted him to beg for the forgiveness... just a little.

 

"Your time's up."

 

"Please don't walk away."

 

Stiles wanted to laugh in his face, but he didn't move. They proceeded to slow dance despite the change in the pace of music. "And why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I be selfish and do the same thing you did to me?"

 

Derek's eyes were their same brown as they were a few years ago when they stared into Stiles's. He shook his head. "Because that isn't you. You don't go anywhere or do anything without a fight."

 

"Why did you leave?" Stiles asked, hated how the entire situation felt straight out of an episode of a soap opera. "That's all I want, Derek. Just an explanation."

 

Silence. Derek's touch was setting Stiles on fire. His face was so close to his own that it was making it hard to breathe, and he watched Derek swallow.  "I don't know."

 

Stiles wasn't going to listen to a lie. "Yes, you do."

 

Derek bit his lip. "You're not... safe with me."

 

"Bullshit," Stiles said, allowing his hand to stay on Derek's shoulder. "When have I ever been safe? I've managed to stay in one piece, I mean, for the most part, since Scott grew claws and more hair than a teenage boy should normally have. I've been _semi_ - _safe_. I know you're scared. Why?"

 

"Because I can't give you what I want," Derek admitted, and his manner had become open, vulnerable.

 

Stiles pushed a little harder. "And what do you think that I want?"

 

"More."

 

"More?"

 

"More than I can give you," Derek whispered, and Stiles barely heard him over the thumping of the bass. "More than what I could _ever_ give you. I left because I didn't want to disappoint you. I didn't want you to feel like I was holding you back."

 

"From what?" Stiles snorted, immediately regretting it with the wave of guilt. "Happiness? We spent a month together in whatever... our relationship was, but so far, I've felt at my best with you."

 

Derek was clearly taken aback, didn’t try to hide his shock. “How? How can you still want me?”

 

“What makes you think that I do?” Stiles replied, but could feel himself caving in. He let out a sigh and squeezed Derek’s hand. “How could I not?”

 

“We hated each other once,” Derek said, and his hand that was holding Stiles’s had separated to cup his face, fingers on the back of his neck just like he had before he had left three years ago.

 

“Once,” Stiles murmured, nudged his nose against Derek’s cheek. “Not anymore.”

 

Derek’s mouth was an inch from his own, inhaling sharply with a sense of need. “Can I... may I kiss you?”

 

And then they were. Derek’s hand had moved to the back of his head, pulling him closer until the entire front of both of their bodies were pressed against each other. His tongue ran along the outside of Stiles’s lips, and it made Stiles want to melt into a pool of jelly. He had both of his hands clutching the lapels of the other man’s suit jacket. It was hard to think straight, Derek’s mouth was a sin that he wouldn’t mind going to hell for. Then, he ruined the moment, tripping over Derek’s foot, and almost crashing into Scott and Kira, except Derek’s werewolf senses saved him just in time. His hand remained planted on Stiles’s waist, and his mouth tugging upward in a cheeky grin. “I see you’ve already fallen for me.”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles groaned, with no heat behind it.

 

“Don’t curse in front of the children!” Derek hissed, smile widening.

 

“What children— oh. You’re talking about me,” he pouted for a second, then gave Derek a light shove that did nothing. “Asshole.”

 

“You are, though.”

 

“What?”

 

“Falling for me.”

 

“We just started... whatever this is, again. You don’t know anything, Hale.”

 

“Mhm,” Derek said, obviously wanting to see how much further he could play along with him. “Just you wait, Stilinski.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Stiles challenged, poking his chest. “And what are we?”

 

Derek caressed his thumb across Stiles’s cheek. A few guests had finally happened to eye them confusingly with the slow-moving pace during a Britney Spears song, but the only thing the pair were focused on was each other. Derek shrugged with a chuckle; it caused Stiles’s lips to quirk upward again. “And what are we?” He repeated.

 

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

 


End file.
